Dreams are theatres

Dreams are theatres

Big facades ochre auburn and brown

Large heavy buildings encased in

Swimming pools

High rises

Streets with no particular directions

The whole thing a performance

But not one at all

A performance of the trauma

A young battered brown child

Holding hands with a faceless man

As he walks past me on the street

Resigned to be a child forever

And we perform our trauma

In dreams

So that we awake at peace

Or troubled fretted

By the unconscious

Subconscious conscious

My dreams are a reflection of imprisonment

Flighty love affairs connected

But apart

And encased by cubist auburn paint thick buildings

The fortress of the metropolis

In between culture and urban leisure landscape

Swimming pools and theatre

Painted up and painted away

And somewhere there is the heart

And it exists in the little child

Neglected and lost

But I am repulsed by this

And the trauma and the bad sad

Tragedy that exists within this innocence

The other day I dreamt I was magic

But I can’t remember it